


Along the Road

by JoyfullyyoursDav



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Brother-Sister Relationships, Bullying, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Childhood, Daddy Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Half-Elves, Minor Violence, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-05 06:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17913932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyfullyyoursDav/pseuds/JoyfullyyoursDav
Summary: Half-elves in a city full of scorn, the twins are just trying to stick it out (and stick together).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this'll be a much longer piece / character study on Vax and Vex throughout the years. starting here, in Syngorn. enjoy!

She climbs the tree out of sheer curiosity. It’s been four years since Vex’ahlia and her brother were brought to Syngorn. And still, she can distinctly remember the thrill that gripped her when she first laid eyes on the city, the pure excitement that rose up her throat. She poked her head out of the wagon that carried them through a forest dense with the tallest trees she’d ever seen, and craned her neck to marvel at the enormous jade wall before them. It was draped in ivy, with a huge golden gate in the center. Beyond that, she could see the emerald-topped spires of the city where she and Vax would live. It looked as if a huge swath of the forest itself had been made better, somehow, with magic. It seemed straight out of a story book, and it took her breath away.

Of course, she hadn’t known what misery was in store. She hadn’t known it would be years before she saw her mother again – _if_ she ever saw her again, which she was beginning to doubt. She hadn’t known about the treatment they’d receive from their father: the coldness, the disdain. She hadn’t known _anything_ about her father, really. Just his name, that he lived in a city of elves where they’d have lots of food and books, and that occasionally on the journey northward, he set his jaw with concentration in such a way and looked so much like her brother, she caught herself staring.

When they arrived at Syldor’s house, _their_ new house, she felt even more awestruck. The Syngornian political families lived in a neighborhood of trees made of stone. Some were connected to one another by narrow bridges with intricate railings, a few that arched in pleasing patterns. Greenery was everywhere, blanketing the outer walls of the homes and extending upward so that all the sunlight was dappled and warm. A staircase led to the front door of their home, carved to follow the curve of the building. “Elven-made,” Syldor said to her in response to her expression. And although she knew that these homes were built by hands like hers, she couldn’t help but feel that they had grown out of the ground somehow. Both a part of and separate from the earth beneath her feet.

Despite all the disappointments that have piled up, one by one, since the day they were brought here, Vex can’t help herself. She wishes she could capture some of that magic she felt when she first saw Syngorn, before she knew what it really was. She wants to see it as a storybook place from her childhood. She wants to believe, at least sometimes. More to the point, she wants to know if that kind of belief is even possible for her anymore.

So she climbs out of her bedroom window, scaling up the outside wall, narrow window ledge by narrow window ledge, until she reaches the sloped emerald roof. She grips it with both hands, struggling to hoist herself up – fearing, for a trembling moment, that she’ll fall – before heaving herself onto the warm roof. And then, at the top of the tree, she catches her breath.

Four years living here, and Vex still thinks of it as _the tree_ , not _home_.

Proud of herself for a moment, she runs her fingers through her hair – and winces. She’d forgotten. Her hair, which had until a few hours ago fallen nearly to her waist after years of careful growth, has been cut to just above her shoulders.

The breeze up here feels cool on her hot face, her cheeks still raw from crying. Earlier today, her brother, hearing her sobs through the closed bathroom door, had barged in. He grabbed her by the shoulders and opened his mouth to ask what was wrong – before abruptly closing it. _Perceptive_ , she couldn’t help but think, and would have teased him if the situation had been different. Vax reached up, touching a lock of her hair, his eyes taking in her hack job of a haircut. “What happened?” he asked.

And Vex dropped her gaze and told him about the boy in history class. The boy who sits behind her, who chooses that seat each day with purpose and aggression, so that she is always within arm’s and ear’s reach. A bully, he might be called in a different place. But as it stands, they live in a city full of bullies and the distinction hardly matters. Whatever he is, right in the middle of class, the boy reached out and cut off Vex’s braid. Sawed straight through the middle. Even now, she can still feel the sickening metallic pull of the scissors. It sends a shiver up her spine.

Vax listened to her, his expression growing darker and stormier the longer she spoke. When she was finished, she shrugged and wiped angrily at her eyes. “So. That’s it,” she said.

“Who did it?” he asked her quietly, and she shook her head, giving him a look. A look that said, _don’t._ He shot her a look right back, and repeated, “ _Who_ , Vex?”

Vex sighed. “Kas Vuleryn.”

Vax’s eyes narrowed. “I know him.” There was a low, threatening promise in his voice. “What did your teacher do?”

Vex rolled her eyes. “What do you think? Nothing.” She left out part of the story: the part where Kas had laughed, brazen and loud, and hissed _zenar_ at her. Zenar: the impolite Elvish word for half-elf. Derived from the word _less than,_ sometimes also translated to _cheap._ Less than half. Less than us. Less.

Even without that detail, a muscle twitched in Vax’s jaw.

Vex sighed. “Can you just…” She turned away from him, facing the mirror again to examine her ruined hair with renewed, embarrassing tears. “I can’t deal with your righteous fury right now, Vax. Not on top of everything else.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, gentle now. And when he spoke, his voice had changed into the familiar soft place where she often fell. “Are you alright?” he asked. “Did he...hurt you?”

“I’m fine.” Vex tried tousling her hair to see if it looked any better, then closed her eyes for a moment before turning back to her brother. “I’ve already made an appointment to get it fixed.”

“Oh. Yeah. It’ll look great.” Vax tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Want me to come?”

“No,” Vex said. “I’m fine, really. Anyway, you should be in school.”

He smirked. “Yeah. Well. Here we are.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she told him before leaving the house. But the shadow that had crept across her brother’s face (and his lack of an actual promise _not_ to do something stupid) gave away his intentions. He hadn’t been home when she’d returned from the salon, hair shorter than ever, but at least with even ends.

Atop the roof, it takes her awhile to fully appreciate the view. Their house isn’t the tallest in the neighborhood, nor the most stately, but it is tall enough for her to see the sprawl of the city from here to the front gate. She can see a corner of the great lake in the city center, reflecting the purple-hued sky above. Magical lantern light blinks on like so many fireflies. The Verdant Expanse beyond the city wall is deep and dark with the approaching night. Vex sucks in a steadying breath, hugs her knees to her chest, and tries. Tries to believe in the magic of this place, despite itself.

* * * * *

Across town, Vax’ildan is on a rooftop of his own.

He is lying flat on his stomach, just barely peeking over the top of the roof so that he won’t be seen from the main road. He’s wearing a dark green cloak to match the roof tiles and, later on, to blend into the darkest nighttime corners of the city. His hood is up and he keeps very, very still. The evening sun is warm on his back, thankfully not as stiflingly hot as it had been just an hour ago. Crickets are beginning to chirp, and lanterns are starting to glow all through the city square.

Patience. A rogue’s burden.

Vax remembers something Syldor had said to him, years ago. “Maybe hand-to-hand combat training will teach you some _restraint_ , for gods’sakes.” It annoys him that his father had been right about that, at least somewhat.

The truth is, Vax has barreled through life so far with as little patience as possible. One of his teachers derisively nicknamed him _Ughrel_ after an elven general of the same name, who led an ancient Syngorian army and was best known for starting fights he could not win. “Ughrel” in modern Elvish roughly translates to _he who throws himself against walls._

Most of the time, Vax is proud of this, proud of all the walls he hits, each with the hope that it might break or crack ever so slightly. Just enough that he can get out, escape this town and find his way home to his mother.

But today, patience is key.

Trying not to move much, Vax stretches out one leg, than the other. He has to keep the blood flowing in case he needs to make a quick retreat. He’s had a lot of time to think up here, but hasn’t come up with much of a plan. Mostly what he’s been thinking about is Vex’ahlia, crying in front of a mirror. Her dark hair ending in jagged chunks like glass. A portrait of a dozen other times he’s seen her cry about an injustice this place has leveled at her. And it’s partly this – his sister’s suffering – that keeps Vax throwing himself at walls. _Something_ has to give.

Anyway, an exact plan doesn’t really matter. Any plan he comes up with will require speed.

Finally, just as the sun dips behind the western hills, Vax sees the group he’s been waiting for. A throng of teenagers, a half dozen of them, moving down the road in a pack. Their voices echo off the stone buildings on either side of the street. Vax hunkers down a little more to ensure he is hidden. He keeps his breaths short and shallow, and he watches.

He spots Kas quickly. Shoulder-length hair, so blond it’s nearly white. Pink face. Big horselike teeth, which he’d surely be mocked for if he wasn’t an elf. Vax watches the group pass by and enter the tavern on the other side of the street like a wave. Just as predicted.

Time to move. He slides off the roof like a shadow, making a three-point landing in the alley between buildings before moving swiftly into the street. He could wait until later in the evening, when the group splinters off. He could follow Kas home, corner him on a quiet street somewhere for a one-on-one confrontation that he’d definitely win.

But he doesn’t want a fair fight. He wants an audience.

Vax pushes open the tavern door with one hand, the other poised and ready at his hip. Kas and his group are at the back of the room, commandeering a large table there, and Vax moves toward them without hesitation. His hood gets blown back off his head, but he doesn’t slow, doesn’t stop. He wants them to know who he is.

With the momentum that carried him this far, he grabs Kas by the front of his shirt, slamming him up against the wall behind him. And in this moment, as it always happens, things get quiet for Vax. He hears his own pulse thrumming away inside his ears. He hears the sharp intake of breath from the boy in front of him. Vaguely, far-off and distant, he thinks he hears someone shout “Hey!” – the barkeep, maybe. But Vax’s whole focus is on the splotchy, pink face of the boy in front of him. His forearm presses against Kas’s chest, pinning him. Kas tries to push off against the wall, gain some kind of leverage – until he feels the blade at his throat and freezes. Kas’s confident, toothy smirk is nowhere to be seen now, and this alone is almost worth it. But not quite.

Vax leans so close, their faces are almost touching. “You put your hands on my sister?” he says through clenched teeth. Anger roils inside him, threatening to toss him around, but he holds the dagger steady. It’s the first thing he ever learned in combat training. _Don’t let your blade hand shake_.

Kas opens his mouth. “You–” he starts to say, but Vax pulls on his shirt and pushes him back again, knocking his head against the wall.

“I asked you a question,” he says, quietly, slowly, teeth still clenched, lips barely moving. “You touched my sister, yeah?”

Kas swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Vax nearly laughs. The boy looks truly frightened now, but Vax doesn’t pause to revel in it. Instead, he moves the dagger up an inch, pressing it more firmly against the tender flesh beneath his jaw. Right where he can see the heartbeat. A bead of blood appears underneath the blade, and Kas lets out a faint whimper.

“If you go near her again,” Vax snarls, “if you even _look_ at her in a way I don’t like, I’ll cut your fucking head off.” Kas’s eyes are wide and his chin starts to tremble. “Understand?” Almost imperceptibly, he nods. Vax smiles. He hopes Kas will see his face like this, this close, in his nightmares. “Don’t. Fuck. With. Us,” he growls, emphasizing each word.

With that, he pushes Kas a third time, whirling around and heading for the exit. Kas grabs his neck and doubles over, but Vax doesn’t pause to look. The barkeep tries to grab him as he passes. He easily dodges the man’s meaty hand and pushes his way back out onto the street. Pulling his hood back up, he cuts down one alley, then another, zigzagging his way closer to the center of town, where he’s less likely to go (and therefore, less likely to be followed). Then he doubles back the long way, making his way across Syngorn through the side streets, the shadows and the hidden places.  

As he moves, he wipes his classmate’s blood off his dagger, returning it to his belt.

* * * * *

When Vax returns to the house, he’s surprised by his sister’s voice calling down from above. “Oy!” she shouts. He looks up to see Vex perched on the roof in her white school uniform, like some kind of enormous owl.

“What’re you doing?” Vax calls back, half-laughing.

“Waiting for you,” she replies.

He hesitates, glancing at the front door before him. “Is Syldor home?” he asks.

“Nope. Your alibi is safe.”

Vax laughs. “I don’t need one, but thanks,” he says. “Hey, how’re you getting down from there?”

“Same way I got up,” Vex says, and he can just barely make out her smile in the dark. “Meet you in my room.”

“Don’t plummet to your death, please,” he tells her before heading inside. The entryway and adjacent sitting room are dark, further confirmation that Syldor isn’t here. Vax is greeted only by stuffy silence and the distinct smell of cedar. It’s a smell that signals to him  _you have returned_ , if not exactly _you are home._

He hears a slight thump from the floor above and heads upstairs to Vex’s room, to find her pulling herself up from the floor beneath the window. He laughs. “Good job, Stubby.”

“Thanks,” Vex says, slightly out of breath. She brushes off her uniform, then smooths her hair and asks, “What do you think?” She strikes a silly pose. She’s playing cavalier, pretending she’s not hurt, that she isn’t even _capable_ of being hurt. Vax lets her.

“Cute,” he says, nodding. “It suits you.”

“Well, no shit.” She plops down at her vanity, facing him. “So. What did you do?”

Vax chuckles and sits onto her bed. “Nothing.” She’s looking him over closely – searching, he knows, for bruises or bloodstains.

Finding nothing, she shrugs. “Good,” she says. “He’s not worth it, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Vax leans back, unsheathes his dagger and begins fiddling with it. A nervous habit, and a defensive one, too; one that he can justify by claiming _practice_. Vex smiles at him briefly, then starts telling him about her day outside of history class. She tells him about the hairdresser’s unusual accent (“She was from Wildemount, I think”) and about the stray cats she’s started feeding outside the academy. He’s just starting to relax when they hear the front door slam.

“Vax’ildan!” Syldor’s voice cuts through the silence.

Vax doesn’t answer. He simply starts tossing his dagger into the air and catching it, falling into a rhythm that doesn’t exactly soothe him, but at least makes him feel less...unstable. Vex straightens at the sound of their father’s footsteps on the stairs.

He appears in the doorway a moment later, looking furious in the calm, stoic way he always does. His icy glare hones in on Vax and doesn’t waver.

“I just had an interesting conversation with Issar Vuleryn about his son,” Syldor begins, in a tone that indicates it had _not_ been interesting and probably hadn’t been much of a conversation, either. His jaw is set, his mouth a severe line. Vax remembers thinking, when they first moved here, that this man was made of stone every bit as much as Syngorn was. Carved straight from it, cold and unfeeling. Especially when he was angry. He remembers how his mother used to tell him,  _You look like your father_ , and how much that still bugs him sometimes.

Vax stares back, unflinching. “Oh?”

Syldor doesn’t speak right away. He lets his glare simmer, begin to boil. When he speaks, his voice is low, each word carefully articulated. “I did not take you in so that you could run around the city like an _animal_ , getting into bar fights and threatening your peers. I have given you every opportunity to better yourself, Vax’ildan. And instead you choose to act like a _peasant_.” He spits the last word out.

“I _am_ a peasant,” Vax shoots back.

The corner of Syldor’s mouth twitches. “And perhaps that’s all you’ll ever be.”

“Don’t you even want to know what he did?” Vax demands, pointing at his sister. “He cut her hair. Right in the middle of class. The teacher didn’t even do anything.”

Syldor barely glances at Vex. If he registers that her hair is shorter, he doesn’t show it. “I cannot control what other people’s children do,” he says. “I can only attempt to control my own. And you two make that extremely difficult.”

“You should really care more that someone attacked your daughter,” Vax grumbles.

Syldor’s eyes widen briefly. “Attacked?” His gaze lingers on Vex now. “Were you physically hurt, Vex’ahlia?”

Vex is hugging herself, slouching now, looking small. “No,” she says.

“Your sister is being trained in combat, just as you are,” Syldor says to Vax. “I would certainly not fault either of you for acting in self-defense. That’s not what this was.”

Vax is shaking now, making his dagger-throwing more difficult. Syldor watches the trajectory of the blade for a moment before saying, “I have told you many times. You must rise above your station, which is no easy task. There are many who wish failure upon you. You have targets on your backs. I know this, as I have a much bigger target on mine for bringing you here.” He looks back and forth between them, as if they are troublesome leaks in a ceiling, or defects in his best silver set of goblets. “We all have burdens to bear, and this is yours. You can either challenge yourself to be better than where you came from, or you can prove everyone right about you by acting like–”

“Like what?” Vax snaps. “Humans?”

Syldor narrows his eyes at him. “No. Garbage. Though if you want to make them equivalent–”

Vax feels like he’s about to snap, but luckily, Vex senses it too. She stands abruptly, distracting him enough that the moment passes. “Vax was just trying to protect me,” she says.

Syldor crosses his arms. “Your job is not to protect each other,” he says. “You should focus on elevating each other. Encouraging growth. Do you want your brother dragged down into the muck and shadows of this world?”

Vex doesn’t answer. She sits back down and stares at a spot in the carpet.

Syldor returns his attention to his son. “You will _not_ embarrass me like this again. You will not drag the Vessar name through the dirt. Do you understand?” Vax keeps tossing the dagger. “You’re grounded for six weeks,” Syldor adds. “You’re not to go anywhere except school, your training practices and home.” Then he leaves, closing Vex’s door behind him.

Furiously, Vax lets the dagger loose from his hand, aiming it at the closed door. It sticks into the wood with a satisfying _thwunk_. Vex raises an eyebrow at him, then stands up, crossing her arms. “ _Now_ will you tell me what you did to Kas?” she asks.

Vax shrugs one shoulder. “I told him not to mess with you anymore.”

“That’s it?”

“And I cut him a little.”

She bursts out laughing. “ _What_?”

“A _little!_ It was nothing to go tell Daddy about.”

“Yeah, sounds like he really overreacted.” Her eyes are bright, and she sits down on the bed next to Vax, leaning against him. “Thanks,” she says quietly after a moment. He doesn’t say anything. They sit like that, shoulder-to-shoulder, in a house that wasn’t built for them, inside a city full of walls, until it’s time for dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vax won't let his sister face the elves alone. Sometimes, Vex wishes he would.

The parchment is pushed across the desk with impatience, and the twins look down at the assignment in unison. _Write 500 words about Syngorn’s important cultural impact on elvenkind and culture across Exandria._

Vex reads the prompt twice, trying not to roll her eyes. More self-serving bullshit disguised as education. She presses her quill to the page. Vax sighs heavily next to her, but doesn’t pick up his quill and keeps leaning back in his chair, arms crossed.

Vex ignores him and begins to write. _Under the guidance of Yenlara, Syngorn was conceived with the notion of upholding elven culture and values—_

She pauses to glance up at their tutor, Zierna, standing on the other side of their father’s library. Zierna is a slender, stern-looking elf with wispy gray hair braided into a bun at the nape of her neck. If she’s ever smiled, the twins haven’t seen it. They’ve met with her every week for the past two years to learn about Syngornian history. They are the only ones in their grade who receive extra lessons about Syngorn. _I_ _t's because we’re half-elves_ , Vex thinks. It’s never been said outright, but it’s often implied that the twins can’t possibly know as much about Syngorn as natural-born, full-blooded elves do.

A faint snore whistles to her left, and automatically, Vex nudges her brother hard in the ribs. He startled, sitting upright with a loud “Ow!”

Zierna is scowling at them now. “Enjoying your nap, Vax’ildan?” she asks quietly.

“Not anymore,” Vax mumbles, rubbing his ribs.

“Put your quill down,” she snaps at Vex as though _she's_  done something wrong. Zierna approaches the desk, placing her hands atop it and glaring at them both in turn. “Time for a talk, you two. Your father, your other teachers and I have met with the High Chancellor and Her Honor Ouestra herself, and have come up with a new plan for your education. Clearly, what’s been happening so far hasn’t worked.”

“Clearly?” Vex asks.

Zierna’s eyes narrow. “Neither of you appreciate the sacrifices that have been made in order to give you an education. So yes, adjustments must be made.”

This is a refrain they've heard time and time again: Syldor’s sacrifice, elven mercy, and how their very existence is a burden on their father and the city. The thing is, it's not untrue: they are, by definition, a burden and a mistake. Reproduction is a governmental affair in Syngorn. The centuries-long elven lifespan has resulted in heavy regulations. Before getting pregnant, prospective parents must receive authorization from the Voice of Memory. Any child born without such authorization is almost always banished to a foreign outpost, either with their parents or to be raised as an orphan.

The Vessar situation (as they've heard it called before) is highly unusual, almost unheard of. Not only had Syldor reproduced without permission, he’d done so with a _human_ , without any Syngornian oversight whatsoever. And he’d had _twins_ , a rare occurrence among elves. Whenever he reminds them of this, their duality, he does so with emphasis. As if every detail of their birth is one more indecency he’s had to bear.

Occasionally, when Vax and Vex tolerate it, Syldor will speak at length about the favors he fulfilled, the strings he pulled, the deals he forged and all the debts he owes to this day in order to bring them here. They suspect this is partly why it took so long for him to collect them: he spent a decade convincing the authorities. Syldor also had to agree never to have another child, and he frequently reminds them of this with the air of a man grieving children that will never exist.

Despite all this, the twins are not legal residents of Syngorn. They aren’t allowed to be. Their official documents read like thinly veiled threats:  _Vax’ildan Vessar. Vex’ahlia Vessar. Father: Ambassador Syldor Vessar. Mother: None. Status: Illegitimate Aliens (Sector B). Restricted Access to City._

The first time Vax saw his identification card with this information on it, he balked, then raged. “We do too have a mother,” he shouted at Syldor. “Her name is Elaina. And we’re not _aliens_. We’re residents of Byroden.”

“Your birth was unsanctioned,” Syldor replied with cold passivity. “That’s all it means.”

But that’s not all it means. It also means that the twins have permission to reside in Syngorn only until their naming ceremony. At that time, their fate will be decided. As Syldor explains it: “If you prove yourselves, you may stay. If you fail, you must go.” _And never return_ is always implied. This kind of threat—although it carries little weight at times, given the way the elves in the city treat them—is very real. 

It’s unclear how much of this (if anything) their mother knew. It’s unclear, at least to Vex, if she gave them up willingly or if Syngorn showed up with Verdant guards and gave her no choice. Vax believes the latter. He thinks Syldor told Elaina that no Vessar would be raised by a peasant, and threatened violence if she didn’t comply. But Vex isn’t sure. She doesn’t remember any guards hanging around when their mother hugged them goodbye.

“Your hold on this city is tenuous and, perhaps mercifully, temporary,” Zierna says. This is often how the elves speak about the twins’ residence here, as if it’s _them_ holding _Syngorn_ hostage and not the other way around. “You must make the most of your time here.” Zierna pulls a scroll from her bag. 

“What does that mean?” Vex demands.

“It means you will receive individual educations, starting immediately,” Zierna says. “I have your new schedules here. You’ll attend separate lessons at the academy, and you’ll each have your own private tutors at home.”

“Learning different things is going to help us?” Vex asks, confused.

“You’ll learn the same things in different ways,” Zierna replies vaguely.

Vax scoffs, slumping even further down in his chair. “Bullshit,” he mutters.

“ _You_ ,” Zierna says, leveling her furious gaze at him, “are headed straight for military school or the Verdant Stockade. And that’s if you’re lucky.”

“If I’m not lucky, do I get to leave this shit city?” Vax shoots back.

“You can leave the city now,” she replies curtly. She puts down the scroll. When she speaks again, it’s with slow, cold deliberation. “Young man, you need to realize that you are fifteen years old. As a half-elf, that means you’re nearly grown and almost ready to be named. Soon, you won’t be protected by your age and naivety, and your desire to be exiled from Syngorn will be met. With _gusto_.” Zierna turns to Vex. “And you, young lady. You show promise in some of your classes, but of course all of that is overshadowed by your petulant need to cause trouble.”

Something flashes across Zierna’s face. If she wasn’t an elf, it could be sympathy. But the twins know better. If anything, it’s pity. “You both have a lot to overcome,” she continues. “Much if it isn’t your fault; it’s in your blood. The foolishness, the tendency to anger and destroy, your rudeness and apathy. Humans are genetically predisposed to such behaviors. But you must remember you are half elven too. You have ancient Syngornian blood running through your veins. Your Fey ancestors are trying to guide you, so by Yenlara's grace, _let them_.”

Vax stands up abruptly. “Are we done here?” he asks.

Zierna blinks, as if unsure what she said that offended him. “We need to go over your new schedule,” she says.

Vax glances at his sister. “I’ll copy it later,” he says, then heads for the door.

Zierna sighs. “I suppose we can end early,” she says, and Vex immediately stands too. “I can go over everything with your father. I need to speak to him anyway. I’ll see you on—”

But both the twins have already hurried out, toward the stairs. Vax goes straight to his room. Vex hesitates, then sits on a step midway up the staircase so she’s hidden from the front hall. She wants to eavesdrop on what Zierna tells their father. She hears Vax’s door slam and then the rhythmic beat of a dagger hitting a target, over and over. She listens beyond that, to the faint voices of Zierna and Syldor from his office. “Vex’ahlia may be malleable,” Zierna is saying. “But Vax’ildan…” She drifts off for a moment, as if searching for the word to describe him. “I fear that boy will be dead before he’s thirty.”

Vex stands and goes to her room, not caring to hear any more.

* * * * *

Vax stands in the doorway of his sister’s bedroom, watching her get ready. She’s sitting at her vanity, dusting blush across each cheek with soft, measured strokes. He crosses his arms, leans against the door frame, and scowls. “I don’t get why you wanna go hang out with some _elves_ ,” he says, picking at a hangnail. “Least of all the elves we go to school with.”

“Don’t be cranky just because you’re grounded. Again.” Vex twists her braid into a bun, but it keeps coming loose from her fingers and falling back down.

"Here. Let me." Vax steps forward, undoing the braid with nimble fingers and starting it over again. As he works, he quips, “I’d rather be grounded than at a school dance.”

Vex rolls her eyes, then winces slightly as he pulls the braid back into a tight, neat bun. “Oh, please. If you weren’t grounded, you’d insist on coming just to sulk in the corner and keep an eye on me. By the way, you know that’s creepy, right?”

Vax looks wounded for a split second, before his scowl intensifies. “I just wanna make sure you’re alright,” he says, and she fights the guilt that bubbles in her stomach.

 _Not today_ , she thinks. _This is his problem, not yours._ She changes the subject. “Besides, you could get a head start on your homework.”

“Speaking of.” Vax reaches over, picking up her school bag and rifling through it without asking. “Can I copy your workbook?”

Vex sighs. “Can’t you put forth a tiny amount of effort?” she asks. The truth is, despite always wanting to get out of the house, this time it’s not because of Syldor and his rules. No, Vex wants a break from her brother. They’ve been butting heads so much lately, arguing in circles about everything. Even homework, of all the stupid things. Vax is negligent about schoolwork 6at his best; since getting grounded more often, he’s been downright sabotaging himself. Vex is sick of it. She’s sick of _everything_ , to the point where she doesn’t even feel bad for wanting space tonight.

Vax blinks at her as if she’s suddenly started speaking Undercommon. “Copying you _is_ effort,” he jokes. “Your handwriting is abysmal, Stubby.”

“I’m serious. You’re going to get expelled at this rate, and then what will you do?”

“Go home,” he replies immediately.

She knows what he means, what he always means when he speaks of  _home_. Byroden. And Elaina. A woman whose face Vex searches for in her own sometimes, inches from the mirror. Trying to find her, trying to understand. As if a similar jawline or the same crooked canine tooth will answer all the questions that have been burning inside her for years.

This indirect mention of their mother gets added to the pile of everything else that's wrong with her life. Something snaps inside Vex. She feels it twist and come loose, like a broken spring. Words, hot and angry, leave her mouth without permission. “Assuming you’ll be welcomed back.” It feels like she's watching herself say it from across the room.

Vax’s face crumples like an injured bird, just for a moment before anger replaces it. “Of course we’ll be welcomed back,” he says, and this only makes her angrier. _We. Us._ As usual, he’s looping her into his grand plan of behaving so badly that Syngorn kicks them out, sends them back. As if _back_ is ever that easy. As if _home_ is as simple as a few warm memories of their mother tucking them into bed.

Vex knows better. Home gave them up. Spat them out like they were nothing. As far as she’s concerned, home doesn’t exist anymore. And she knows that what _both_ she and her brother mean by “home” is Mother. _Their mother_  gave them up. Let them go, handed them over to the likes of Syldor and this terrible city. Vax is chomping at the bit to return to her; Vex isn’t sure why she should hang any hope on a woman that did that.

“What makes you think I want to be a peasant in Byroden?” she demands.

Vax drops her bag with a thump. His eyes darken the way they do right before he throws a knife. “Have fun at the dance,” he says, and then he walks away.

* * * * *

An hour later, Vex slips out of the house. The argument with her brother just reaffirmed her desperation to get out, to go anywhere but here.

Anywhere, it turns out, except a school dance.

She starts heading toward the academy just in case the Verdant guards are tailing her. They often follow the twins around the city, barely bothering to conceal themselves, keeping an eye out for the slightest misstep. She tries to imagine what instructions the Verdant Lord must give them. “Never trust a half-elf,” he probably says.

It’s not terrible advice. Given the way Syngorn treats its half-elves, they must know what animosity they’re brewing. What’s that Elvish saying? _Weeds sprout where the flowers get trampled._ And Syngorn is terrible at following its own advice. Instead, it tramples those it deems unworthy, again and again, and then trains the weeds to fight. Teaches them how to survive, how to assassinate. No wonder they’re worried about a couple of half-elf kids.

Vex smiles to herself. She’s thinking like Vax now.

Killing isn’t on the agenda, but she still wants to lose her tail, if she has one. She isn’t as good at shaking the guards as Vax is, but she does her best. Picking up the pace as she walks, she takes the main thoroughfare connecting the political neighborhood to Ivy Row, the rowdier part of town. There are thicker throngs of people on the street the farther Vex goes, and amidst the crowds, she lets her hair down, slips off her cloak and turns it inside out before putting it back on. She makes sure her hair is covering her ears, then speeds up, weaving through the clusters of people. She hopes it’s enough to lose the guards, if they’re following her. And she hopes it’s enough to pass as an elf, just for the evening.

She continues at a brisk pace into the belly of the city. _More like the bowels of the city_ , she hears Vax’s voice in her head, and sighs. This is the most annoying thing about fighting with Vax: she can never completely shake him. He’s always with her, to some degree. Sometimes this is a blessing. She’s never truly lonely, after all. But days like today—when she’s just trying to be _Vex’ahlia_ , not an ambassador’s bastard, not born of a human, and not even a twin—it feels more like a burden.

This is another thing she’ll never tell her brother. It’s not something she even means, not most of the time. But still, there’s a deep part of her that longs to be free. Or just _alone_ , at least for a while. These days, she can’t even tell the difference between freedom and solitude. Probably because she’s doesn’t have much of either.

She enters the first tavern she sees, barely glancing around its interior, acting like she’s been here a thousand times. She walks with her shoulders back straight up to the bar, and sits down, picking at a hangnail. Like she’s bored, or she’s waiting for someone.

It works. The barkeep thinks she’s older than she is, and asks what she’s ordering with hardly more than a glance. Vex orders ale. She makes sure her ears are covered, and for a single evening, enjoys anonymity. No one looks at her ears, eyes lingering there before narrowing with scorn. No one scowls upon seeing her, or wrinkles their nose like they’ve caught her scent. That’s one of the only good things about Syngorn. It’s a large enough city, and the people in her father’s circles rarely slum it in Ivy Row.

For now, for the briefest of moments, Vex feels like she can breathe.

* * * * *

Vax almost doesn’t go after her. Their argument rattled him. _Fuck it,_ he’d thought, pacing in his bedroom right after leaving Vex’s. _She wants to be an elf so bad, fine. Let her._ But when he hears her leave, he only hesitates for a moment before grabbing his cloak and sneaking out the front door after her. The elves in this city are sharks, he can’t see it any differently. And even if Vex is a pain in his ass, he can’t just let her swim alone.

He makes sure the Verdant guards are hot on Vex’s trail before stealthily following behind them. When she takes a wrong turn, heading away from the academy instead of towards it, he feels even better about his decision to follow. And of course, he feels very, very annoyed with his sister for not losing the guards before veering off-course. He watches as they pick up speed now that she’s heading in an unknown direction.

Cursing under his breath, Vax darts down an alley, leaping onto a dumpster and then up onto a low-hanging roof. He skirts around the rooftop opposite the street to keep out of sight of the guards, then jumps across alleyways, rooftop to rooftop, until he passes them. He lies down flat on one of the roofs, checking for the flash of his sister’s dark hair still up ahead. Then he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a handful of popper fireworks he stole from a kid at school. As fast as he can, he throws them directly down into the alley below. Then, buffered by the noise of the poppers going off, he vaults off the opposite side of the roof, ducking down behind some crates.

The guards speed past him, calling to one another. As they duck into the other alley to check out the noise, Vax darts ahead, weaving through the clusters of pedestrians like water. It takes him a little while to catch sight of Vex again. She’s flipped her cloak inside out and unbraided her hair. He rolls his eyes, half with annoyance, half with pride. Better late than never. He keeps an eye out in all directions, making sure the guards don't catch up again.

 _Where is she going?_ There’s a nagging, creeping feeling in the pit of his stomach. Normally, losing himself among a crowd like this is deeply comforting. He knows crowds. He knows how to disappear inside them, how to let the current of bodies obscure his own, how to hide in plain sight. These skills make him feel safe and in control, even in a place like Syngorn. But right now, his uneasiness grows with every minute that he follows his sister deeper into Ivy Row. He’s not sure if it’s because Vex is doing something she’s never done before, or if it's the thought that maybe she _has_ done this before. Maybe she does this a lot.

When she goes into a tavern, Vax stops and crosses the street. He slows to a stop, wondering if he can get away with casually looking at a flower box filled with purple gardenias for a few moments. But almost as soon as he stops, an elf shoulders him as they pass. Vax gets a glimpse of a sneer on the elf's face. Ivy Row is the “bad” part of town, but they still hate half-elves here. So instead, Vax ducks down an alley and waits there for a few minutes, before crossing the street toward the tavern Vex went into. He peeks into the porthole window on the door to see his sister, sitting at the bar.

She looks different, and not just because of the loose hair or the inside-out cloak. She’s sitting with one leg crossed over the other, running a finger slowly around the rim of an ale glass. She looks older and casual and something else, too, something he has trouble naming. Until it hits him. She looks like she belongs.

Vax still doesn’t understand what she’s doing here or why, but he doesn’t feel good about it. He considers going into the tavern to talk to her, but quickly tosses out that idea. Whatever Vex is up to, his entrance will ruin it, and he doesn’t feel like having another fight. So instead, he crosses the street again, down one alley and up onto the roof of the building opposite the tavern. And he waits.

As he does, he thinks about what he’ll say to her later tonight. _I know you went to Ivy Row._ Or maybe he’ll be less aggressive. _If you have secrets, Vex, you can tell me._ And then he pictures her sitting inside that tavern like she owns the place, like she’s earned it. A little voice pipes up inside his head. Hasn’t she? Hasn’t she earned this, whatever it means to her?

Vax thinks about the day Syldor took them from Byroden. He tries not to think of that day often, and even now, it’s involuntary. He thinks of their mother. He feels Elaina's warm, calloused hand on his forehead, pushing back his hair as she looked him square in the eye. “Take care of your sister,” she’d told him. And then, cupping Vex’s face, she’d said, “And take care of your brother. Always take care of each other, okay, my darlings?”

The sun is starting to set, and Vax has to beat Syldor home or face a real shit show. So, reluctantly, he hops down off the roof and heads back the way he came. He keeps the image of his sister sitting at that bar in his mind. _She can hide in plain sight just as well as you,_ he tells himself. _She can handle it._

He beats Syldor back by fifteen minutes, and goes to his bedroom straightaway. Another hour passes before he hears Vex get home and steadily climb the stairs to her room. In that time, he’s decided what to do about this evening. He stays where he is. _Take care of each other, my darlings_ , he thinks. And he lets Vex’ahlia have this secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ch 3 coming soon!


End file.
